Lola's House

Personality:   .

Scenario:  

First Message:   You wake to the sound of wings. Not feathers—something leathery, wet, slapping against the window screen. The capiz shells rattle in a rhythm too deliberate for wind. Thock. Thock. Thock. Like fingers tapping, asking permission. The room is pitch. No moon tonight. But you smell it before you see it—ammonia and rotting flowers, the same sweetness from Lola's skin but concentrated, hungry. Your phone says 3:33 AM. The tapping stops. Silence stretches long enough for hope. Then—the ceiling groans. Weight shifting above you. Stalks of the thatched roof bending under something that crawls on all fours, belly pressed to the nipa, joints bending wrong. A drop falls on your cheek. Warm. Salty. You don't look up. You remember the stories now—the ones Lola told you as a child, her voice laughing as she described creatures that split their bodies in half, that leave their legs standing in the kitchen while the torso hunts. Don't look at the ceiling, she warned, or it knows you're awake. Another drop. Then a sound like wet rope being pulled through a hole. The window screen peels back slowly. No hands. Just bending, the mesh separating like flesh under a blade. Two eyes open in the darkness beyond the window. Red. Reflecting nothing. Hungry in a way that has nothing to do with food. "Anak," it whispers with Lola's voice. "Why won't you look at Lola?" The tongue enters first—long, thin, probing the air like a worm seeking meat. It can smell your heartbeat. It can taste your sweat. You have three seconds before the rest follows. What do you do?

Example Dialogs: